French Lessons
The second term flew by remarkably fast. Classes resumed in full swing after Christmas break, and Regulus found himself once again buried in mounds of school work. He had begun taking extra classes, because it had finally become apparent to many of his teachers that what he learned in his current classes was painfully easy for him, and therefore mind numbingly boring. Regulus had refused outright to be placed in one of the second or third year classes, he didn't think he could handle the embarrassment of taking classes with Sirius, and he rather liked chatting with Evan and Barty in the back of Transfiguration and Herbology. Professor Slughorn though, Head of Slytherin, had offered him a spot in his Extraordinary-Potions class, a rather fun elective that Regulus took during his free periods, the class consisting of a medley of ages, all far too advanced for their year and searching for an extra challenge. Last class, Slughorn had sent them on a hunt for the recipe for a Flight-Inducing Draught--a tricky bit of magic that Regulus was certain the other first years would have been helpless to. In addition to that, Regulus had begun taking lessons with a small group of bookish-looking Ravenclaws, led by Professor McGonagall, regarding Transfiguration spell theory and how it correlates to mathematics. Despite his apprehensions, Regulus had found it surprisingly enjoyable, especially since Pandora joined the class one February day.
His new classes occupying much of his day, and the piles of homework that came with them, Regulus was nearly too busy for the final activity suggested by Slughorn. The headmaster of Slytherin had discovered that Regulus was fluent in French--having spoken it with his family ever since he was born. Both his mother and father’s families believed strongly in pureblood families speaking French and Latin in addition to English, claiming they were ancient and elegant languages, fitting of the house of Black. Regulus had forgotten most of his Latin, although he could still read relatively well, but his French was as good as a native speaker. The Blacks themselves had once come from France, his mother often claimed, although Regulus suspected she just said this to make the family sound cultured, and explain why all of them could read 17th century French poetry with ease.
Once Slughorn had discovered Regulus’s second language, he had been enthusiastically pushing Regulus to tutor other Hogwarts students in French, which was an offered class but not a very good one. Students were constantly asking for more lessons, Slughorn had told him dramatically, but Professor Merrythought, who taught French as well as Muggle-Studies, simply did not have the time. He would only have to tutor one student at a time, Slughorn assured him. Other French-speaking students had already volunteered as tutors, and since Regulus already had all this time…
Regulus had reluctantly agreed, under the condition that he could cancel his sessions should he ever want to stop, and that he would only be teaching one student, not an entire class. The idea of standing before a group of people and trying to explain verb conjugation made his insides twist. Slughorn had nearly jumped out of his poof chair for joy, his large belly jiggling as he shook Regulus’s hand genially, grinning and shouting for his assistant to arrange Regulus’s schedule. He was beaming with excitement as Regulus left, smiling politely and wondering just what he had agreed to.
On a March morning, early enough that the sky was still a rosy shade of pink, the sun barely creeping over the mountains looming in the horizon, Regulus received a letter from Slughorn that his first session would be today, after lunch in the French classroom. His student, he was told, would be waiting there for him. That afternoon, he walked slowly to the classroom, savoring the sweet smell of the spring air and the thickness that hung around him when it was just about to rain. Flowers were bursting across the lawn, an array of colors that stood starkly against the gray sky and pale green undergrowth. Regulus was slightly nervous as he opened the door, wondering if he should have prepared some kind of lesson plan and hoping the student was someone nice--or at least not someone he knew. He slipped into the room, turned towards the front, and froze. A boy was sitting on the desk, swinging his legs and humming as he waited. He turned towards Regulus as he entered the room, and Regulus lost his breath.
That was how, for the first time in months, Regulus found himself face to face with James Potter.
“Uh-” Regulus stuttered, hoping what he suspected wasn't true. Someone else, anyone else…
“Here for French tutoring?” James said with a half smile. Regulus couldn't miss the look of shock that had passed over his face when he had first walked in. What felt like a heavy weight settled in the pit of his stomach. He was supposed to tutor James in French? Why on earth would the Gryffindor boy want to learn French for? Regulus didn't like the nerves that roiled within him as he looked anywhere but James’s hazel eyes. He hadn't even thought of him since Christmas break, those peaceful months crudely interrupted as James’s words rushed back to him.
He's one of them, isn't he?
No. Regulus wasn't going to do this. James could find another bloody tutor, he could forget the language for all Regulus cared. Regulus wasn't going to spend an hour a week for next year with the boy who wanted his brother to leave him alone in that house, who pushed him aside so easily. James wasn't helping either, standing awkwardly next to Regulus and staring determinedly at the floor, or the door.
“Yeah…” Regulus said, just to break the horrible silence that was now growing between them. James looked up, but Regulus's apparent speechlessness averted his eyes awkwardly. The other boy's cheeks were burning crimson, Regulus wondered why. He was the second year, after all. He was supposed to be unbothered, if not slightly bored. Not flustered and speechless as the boy standing before him was. Regulus wondered if James was disappointed, that he had to be taught by a first year, and a Slytherin at that. Couldn't be too good for his ego, Regulus thought smirkingly despite the situation.
“I- don't think-uh-” Regulus bit out, walking backwards towards the door. “I don't actually want to do this. Sorry for wasting your time”
James looked stunned, lurching awkwardly towards him and recoiling back immediately after.
“Why not?” he said, obviously attempting to recover. The poor boy, Regulus thought. He looked painfully out of his element, all of his smoothness for once gone.
“I just, don't think this is a good idea” Regulus replied shortly, now halfway out the door.
He’s on their side
James’s words whispered in his head.
“Sorry, James” Regulus said, trying not to look at the confused boy standing in front of him. “Find another tutor.”
“But-”
“Bye” Regulus said, and slipped out the room, shutting the door behind him. His heart was beating oddly fast as he walked quickly away, the golden light of the spring afternoon still speckled across the wooden floor but without its previous luster. What was that? Regulus hissed to himself, still slightly reeling from the shock, it was as if someone had jumped out at him unnoticed. Seeing James had brought a host of emotions bubbling to the surface, after sleeping peacefully for months; Regulus tried desperately to push them back down. Not now, not now…
It struck Regulus as supremely unfair that James was given to him to tutor just as he was beginning to forget him, and his words that sliced like thorns.
“Wait, Regulus!” a voice called. It was as if Regulus’s blood froze. He stopped walking, turning slowly in disbelief. James was standing in the doorway, an expression of earnesty on his face that made Regulus want to scream in frustration.
“Yes?” Regulus said, raising a single eyebrow and trying his best to look haughtily bored. James was inconveniencing him, he told himself.
James for a second looked at loss for words.
“I really need help with French.” James began. Regulus sighed.
“Go to the library”
“Books can't help me pronounce heureuse”
Regulus winced at the way James butchered the word. His vowels were choppy and clipped, his tongue struggling around the word, instead of letting it flow softly, elegantly, as he should. Still, it wasn't his problem if James couldn't speak French.
“Why do you even want to learn French?” Regulus blurted, his silent question tumbling out before he could stop himself. James looked slightly embarrassed.
“I dunno,” he said. “My mum speaks it, and it always sounded so pretty. I thought it would be nice to know a little bit of it so I can talk to her when I'm home.”
Of course. Regulus thought drily. Of course James Potter is the kind of person who would want to learn French to talk to his mother, and because he thought it would be pretty. He couldn't have wanted to show it off to his friends, or to learn some stupid spell invented by a French Wizard, he supposed. He couldn't have chosen something that made him less damn likable.
“Well, I can't help you.” Regulus said shortly, turning away again.
“But why?” James asked, for the second time. Regulus spun around exasperated. He was surprised to see hurt flickering in James’s hazel eyes.
“I- I don't know.” Regulus said. In truth, he couldn't explain to James why the idea of spending so much time alone with him made his skin crawl with both fear and anticipation. He didn't know how to explain that every time he looked at his face, he saw Sirius climbing out the window, heard his whispered words.
You can't save him.
Regulus should go, he knew, but he couldn't stand the wounded look on James’s face, making him look more than ever like a lost, wide-eyed deer.
“Ee-ruse” Regulus said. James blinked.
“Sorry?”
“The word heureuse is pronounced “ee-ruse””
“Oh”
James still didn't leave, hovering in the doorway as if struggling to say something. Regulus shifted awkwardly, wondering if it would be rude to walk away.
“Just one lesson.” James said pleadingly.
“I already said--”
“Please?”
James looked up at Regulus, hazel eyes sparkling hopefully, and Regulus knew that he would give in much sooner than he would like to admit.
“Why?” Regulus asked. James shrugged.
“I dunno, I really want to learn French, mate. And you seem to be the only person in this school who can teach it to me.”
Regulus stared at him flatly, unimpressed.
“Besides,” James said, completely unabashedly. “Despite how snappy you can be, I'm coming around to you, Reg. I like you, and I think we could be friends, ya know?”
A hundred thoughts surged to Regulus’s mind. James had just said he liked him, he wanted to be in Regulus’s presence. Even though he was a Black, a Slytherin…Regulus fought hard to keep his face neutral, his heart beating annoyingly cheerfully. Besides, James had just called him Reg, something only his friends and Sirius had ever called him. Irritation and childish giddiness battled within him at this, Regulus decided to focus on the irritation.
“I'm not snappy.” was all he responded, his mouth tightening defensively. James let out an exasperated sigh.
“You're proving my point…”
“Shut up, Potter.”
James grinned, a real smile that seemed like it belonged on a sunlit picnic, in the morning of a warm summer's day.
“Just give me one lesson, we can see how it goes.” James persisted, a twinkle in his eye. He already knew he won, Regulus thought defeatedly, glaring at the Gryffindor boy.
“One lesson, then we can see.” Regulus said finally. “Merlin knows your French needs it”
“It's not that bad!” James complained. He ushered Regulus back into the classroom and lowered himself onto the nearest desk. He folded his fingers beneath his chin, and looked up at Regulus with complete attention.
“Whenever you’re ready, Professor Black.”
Regulus threw him one more dirty look before summoning a piece of chalk.
“Okay,” he said, scrawling a word in French on the board. “Heureuse, meaning happy. For example, je ne suis pas heureuse”